Month: June 2017

I – or perhaps we (you never can tell in these situations) – for unknown reason came to be on a raft on an ocean. The raft were made from the usual cartoon-ish debris: boards, barrels, rope, a treasure chest that looked to be from the 16th hundreds and so on, and a sofa. A really comfy sofa of cream coloured silk with golden embroideries. Perhaps we had crashed with the Versailles castle or … as I said: you never know whence you came in situations like these.

new trainers Issa catches his first fly

Fortunately only my feet were wet and I vanquished the fear of catching a cold. Anyway, the colds you catch in dreams are rarely strong enough to be able to hold on when you wake up (and the discussion whether or not dreams can be taken as ‘real life’ (‘real life” in itself being a vague concept) I won’t begin here though a lot can be said about this age old topic). Unless, of course, you dream that you’re catching a cold because you are catching one the real life. But that aside: I was sitting comfortably watching the slow roll of the ocean as the giants below walked about doing what underwater giants do: shopping, getting their kids from school, taking them to football training and what have you when a detective from a television series I happen to like very much appeared (likewise) from out of nowhere sorta hovering a meter or so above the raft. He looked quite in a state; quite troubled.

zoot allures! Basho and Zappa wear yellow shark skin shoes

“Hey, whatta the troubeling you?”, I said with best the Italian-English dialect I could do (Italian because the actor and the role he plays are Italian, English because I’m writing this so readers that aren’t Danish might have a chance too).

“I’m a bit confuso”, he said. “I don’te know who io sono”, he continued and explained that his real persona and the persona of the imaginary character he plays had merged and now he couldn’t find out what his real self was.

At the monastery we’d all do our bit collecting the dishes and cutlery, glasses and serving plates after each meal and do the washing up together. We who could stand on our own, it is. A lot of the resident monks and nuns were very old and feeble and often got entangled in their beards and the younger monks and nuns who were the only ones allowed to touch them would patiently perform “the rite of untangling” which could take hours as it demands 111 lit candles, half a pound of frankincense and the reading of the entire psalter.

in the room of The Fall
we’re rubber shadows
bouncing off each other

Yes, the nuns had a beard too. “Something to do with the nearby nuclear power plant”, a very old sister told me and made the sound of the cross; a sort of creaking sound much like that of old floor boards. She pointed to a dark foreboding silhouette in the distance which looked sorta like burnt out coal. “Yes, it’s shut down now, but once the Evil One has been given a finger …”. We said 100 Jesus Prayers hoping …

with the word asparagus
a doll’s house gets
more complicated

I digress. It was the washing of dishes, I came from. A couple of the younger monks – around 95 years old, I’d guess – would partake as well after each meal and apparently they thought it was the most funny thing they could do and they would use litre after litre of washing up fluid and the kitchen would fill up with foam which eventually would go out the windows and doors and they laughed and they laughed and had a great time. “Don’t worry. It’s bio-degradable and blessed by the Patriarch of Constantinople”, and we’d all use the cover of the foam to tickle whoever we touched and …